Killer Instinct
by moviebuffgirl
Summary: Power. Popularity. Wealth. Three things that humans found addictive were all in his grasp. Loki, the fallen prince of Asgard, has found himself mixed with the New York Mafia, after his fall off the Bifrost erased his memories. Now, he must navigate through this shady world as Harlan Di Firenze, hired hitman, assassin, and...possible lover? Slightly AU. On brief hiatus.
1. Chapter 1

"No! Harlan!"

Bullets slammed on the wall inches from her body and she screamed, ducking down and covering her head with her hands. "Harlan!"

But her tall, dark-haired companion was nowhere to be found. He had left her ten minutes ago, saying that he needed to check something and that he'd be back. Shortly after he closed the door of the motel room they were staying in, however, gunshots rang through the parking lot and smashed the windows of their room.

She had barely managed to avoid the barrage of bullets and even that was because she had slipped on Harlan's leather jacket, which he had tossed unceremoniously aside the moment they checked in. Now her palms hurt, she could feel grit on her face, and she had a scratch on her arm.

_I hate being clumsy, _she told herself, screaming Harlan's name again. _Where is he?_

The thought had barely passed through her mind when a shadow blocked her vision, and Harlan's signature cologne enveloped her like a comforting embrace. But Harlan was not one to comfort someone, especially when they were both in a dangerous situation.

"Move!" Harlan said roughly, pushing her towards the bathroom. "Damn it Jill, _move_!"

Jill complied; she knew that Harlan would leave her if she didn't move fast enough. After all, he was a hardened assassin sent to kill her and her dad.

_Why am I even with the guy who murdered my dad in the first place? _she asked herself as she scrambled into the bathroom seconds after a shotgun blast decimated part of the wall next to her. _Oh right. Because now we're both targets, and he's my only chance to survive. _

* * *

**Several weeks earlier…**

The wind whistled past his ears as he fell. The last things he remembered were the feel of cold steel around his hand, a brief glimpse of a white haired man with a black eye patch over one eye. Now he fell, fell into nothingness, into the unending pit of despair. He didn't know where he was going, nor did he care. All he wanted was to escape the pain of rejection and of betrayal.

He felt his body collide with something hard and intense pain shot on his head, knocking him out instantly. Voices brought him back to consciousness, and when he opened his eyes, he was not the same person he was.

"Who the fuck is that?"

"Why'd you even bring him in here, Dad?"

"Because I want to know who the hell sent him here. Go see if Archie is in town; that stupid shit is the only one with the guts to pull a stunt like this."

Shuffling sounds came, as if someone was walking on a thick carpet. His eyes fluttered open and he groaned.

"Well hello, Sleeping Fucking Beauty," a grating voice said, and a sharp blow was delivered to the side of his head.

"Salvatore. Stop."

He opened his eyes fully to see himself lying down inside a luxurious bedroom. A man in a pinstriped suit was standing at the foot of his bed, smoking a cigar. He had jet black hair, a thick moustache, and eyes that seemed to bore into his soul. Beside him was a man in his early twenties.

"Who are you, son?" the man in the suit asked.

"I…"

_Who am I? _he thought, frowning. He tried to remember the thoughts that he'd had before the pain came, but he couldn't. He couldn't bring up one thing from his past.

"Looks like he's a retard, Dad," the younger man commented with a smirk. "I say we shoot his ass and dump him in-"

The older man turned and slapped the younger man on the cheek. "One more word, Salvatore. One more."

Salvatore clamped his mouth shut, the left side of his cheek an angry red. The older man looked at Salvatore for a few more moments before turning back to him. "Well, son? We don't have all day."

"I don't…I don't remember."

"I see." The older man nodded. "Who sent you?"

"Nobody. How did I get here?"

"You fell on my dad's business associate," Salvatore replied, shifting to the side as if expecting another slap. "Nearly killed him."

He frowned. He'd had no recollection at all, so he had no choice but to believe what these people were telling him. The very idea of him having no memories at all made him feel helpless, and he hated feeling helpless.

"Since you have no idea who you are – or so you say – I suppose we could make good use of you." The older man looked meaningfully at Salvatore, who took out a sharp scalpel and advanced towards him.

He gripped the sides of the bed, his eyes wide. It seemed as if that was what Salvatore was waiting for, because he lunged, the scalpel aimed at his left eyeball.

Instinct drove him to lash out at Salvatore. To the surprise of the three men, Salvatore flew straight across the room, colliding against the opposite wall. He slid to the floor, the scalpel skittering across the floor and beneath the bed.

Salvatore's dad slowly turned his head towards the figure sitting bolt upright in bed. "How…what the fuck was that?" he demanded, and his "guest" shook his head.

"I don't know," the man said softly, blinking slowly. "I don't know."

"I'm gonna kill you!" Salvatore raged, massaging the back of his head as he stood up.

Salvatore's dad glanced at his son and then back to his guest. Finally he stepped in front of Salvatore, preventing the young man from attacking.

"Stop," he said in low tones. "We need to find more about him before we do anything hasty. Whatever happened…"

"He tried to kill me, Dad!" Salvatore protested, but his dad wasn't listening.

"…he's got some sort of powers and shit. We could use him," Salvatore's dad continued. "If he proves useless, kill him."

Salvatore grunted but stepped back. He knew better than to challenge his dad; although fond of him, Salvatore knew that his dad had no qualms of killing his own kin. Hell, that's what happened to his stepmother.

"Looks like you've been through a lot, son. Rest now, and later we'll figure out what happened to you."

Salvatore fought back a chuckle. His father could certainly be charming when he wanted to. Father and son both watched as their guest slowly lay down, and they could see that he was still watching them. With a warm smile on his face, Salvatore's dad walked towards the door, Salvatore in his wake, and closed the doors.

"Vincent! What the hell?"

Archie DuPont, first-class smuggler and drug dealer, hurried towards Salvatore and Vincent, red-faced and extremely put-upon.

"Ah, Archie. This gag with sending one of your guys to fall onto one of my important clients wasn't amusing," Vincent replied, sliding a cigarette case from his jacket pocket. In one fluid movement, Vincent extracted a cigarette and Salvatore flicked a lighter at one end, as Vincent puffed the rich tobacco.

"What are you talking about?' Archie frowned and stared at the two. "I didn't send anyone!"

"Oh? And who's that in there?" Vincent jerked his head towards the room where the mysterious man was.

"No idea. Listen, I know you've been having a bad week with the Quartermaster case, but don't take it out on me!"

Vincent's expression darkened and Archie backed away, like a dog with its tail between its legs.

"I do whatever the fuck I want, Archie. If I say you get frisked every time you go through that door, you will. And I'd appreciate it if you sounded a little more grateful." Vincent blew a large cloud of smoke in Archie's face, who tried not to cough.

Vincent turned from the drug dealer and made his way into his study. Salvatore slipped his hand inside his pocket and winked at one of the bikini clad girls who were lounging around in the pool earlier. She winked at him and walked past him, but not before he grabbed her wrist and pivoted her around, French kissing her in full view of his dad and Archie.

He then sent her on her way with a playful smack on the butt. She gasped (whether in surprise or pleasure, Salvatore wasn't certain) and Salvatore joined his dad and Archie in the room.

"Now, what is it that you wanted to tell me?"

Vincent, otherwise known as Vincent Cagliari, was the most powerful mob boss in New York. It was whispered that he was directly related Al Capone, but it was also likely that he had simply made it up to gain more respect among the gangs. Vincent had intricate ties to all aspects of the shady dealings made in the city, from drugs, booze, to prostitution.

He had hundreds of goons at his command, plus the loyalty of the many sub-bosses who were spread across the city, from Ellis Island to the Bronx. Vincent also had two sons and a daughter who were there to carry out his name and legacy: Salvatore, Francesco, and Alessandra.

However, there was one thing that separated Vincent Cagliari from the rest of his peers: he had what they called "class." In fact, he frequently rubbed shoulders with the rich, famous, and powerful, including the city's resident "Golden Child," Anthony Stark.

But only Vincent's family members – or those who were left of it – knew that Vincent could be a heartless mercenary, who was quick to forget familial ties if it suited his own ends. Nobody was on solid ground with Vincent, even his own children.

Now, the most powerful mob boss leaned back against his tall-backed leather seat, puffing on the last of his cigarette. Archie sat down on one of the chairs in front of Vincent's desk, trying to hide his shaky hands.

"For fuck's sake, get on with it," Vincent exclaimed after several moments of silence. "I don't have all day to look at you shake like a damn leaf."

"It's the shipment," Archie began, causing Vincent's expression to darken further. "It's…it's been seized."

"Seized. I see. And why did that happen?" Vincent extinguished the cigarette stub on the ashtray on his desk, silently imagining the stub to have Archie's face.

_Useless, _he thought with silent fury. _Is there anyone in this fucking city who can do their job right? _

"The…the…someone tipped the…Coast Guard." Archie's voice faltered as Vincent glanced at his son, who immediately extracted a Glock from his jacket. "God's sake, Vincent! I've served you loyally all this years!"

"Indeed you have," Vincent agreed coolly. "Unfortunately, you, like everything else in this world, has an expiration date."

"Vincent!"

"I do not take kindly to failure, Archie, you know that," Vincent reminded him, now completely blasé. He nodded once to Salvatore, who raised the Glock, aimed it at the space between Archie's eyes, and fired.

* * *

The gunshot echoed in his ears and he winced.

Despite the two men's reassurances that he would be "fine," he felt the opposite. He wasn't afraid; on the contrary, he felt calm. It was the frustration that was eating him up, frustration at not being able to remember who – or what – he was. He was mentally grabbing at nothingness, but he was certain that there was something – his memories, most likely – that once occupied the blank space in his brain.

He sat up again, noticing that the pain in his body had vanished. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, feeling the slight chill of the wooden floor as his feet touched the ground.

It was then when he realized that he was naked from the waist up; he was clad in only a pair of black jeans and a leather belt with a silver buckle. Groaning softly, he put his hands on his head.

"Who are you?"

_How many times must I be asked that question in the span of a few minutes? _he thought irritably, raising his head.

A girl of about fifteen was sitting on the Parisian loveseat near the window, her legs crossed. She had long, wavy brown hair and was looking at him curiously. Her head was tilted, and he could see the outline of a tattoo peeking out from under the straps of her floral sundress.

"You tell me," he answered, lowering his head again. "Because I have no idea."

"Oh, are we speaking in riddles? I love riddles." She sounded earnest, causing him to look at her again. "Well no, not really."

He blinked, not sure how to take it. Finally he raised his shoulders in a half-hearted shrug. His silence didn't seem to deter her; she stood and sat down beside him on the bed, crossing her legs. He stared at her, surprised.

"You're the guy who fell on Nicholas, aren't you?" she asked with a mischievous grin. "If you are, then good job. He's such a prick. I don't know why Daddy keeps on talking to him."

"Because your Daddy knows how important Nicholas is and wants to maintain his connections."

The girl jumped slightly, her eyes wide. "Daddy!"

"Alessandra, stop bothering our guest and go do your homework." Vincent stepped inside the room, his hands clasped behind his back.

Alessandra sighed and smiled at the man sitting a few inches from her. "See you around, I guess." She then leapt off the bed and walked over to Vincent, who smiled when she kissed him on the cheek. Once she was gone, Vincent closed the door and studied his guest.

"Well. It's obvious you've got some sort of amnesia, considering you really don't know who you are," Vincent started.

"If I had anything I'd have told you by now," the man muttered, his green eyes never leaving Vincent's face.

Vincent smirked and tilted his head. "No, you wouldn't. Still, that doesn't erase the fact that you have some…abilities. What you did to my son may have caused some pain – due to the fact that you _did _just throw my son against a wall – but it also impressed me."

The green-eyed man frowned, confused.

_Is he going to punish me for something I don't seem to have any control over? It just…happened. _

"And impressing Vincent Cagliari is no easy task, as most of my associates would tell you," Vincent continued. "You seem to have recovered quickly."

Not knowing what else to say, the man nodded.

"Well. Since you'll be staying with us for a while," – the statement wasn't a question, but more of an order – "I suppose we should think of a name for you. I can't very well call you John Doe forever."

Vincent paused, thinking. He couldn't seem to find a suitable name for the man, for a shadow passed over his face. It was brief, but his guest spotted it immediately. Instead of pointing it out, however, he decided it was more prudent to remain silent.

"Alessandra!" Vincent bellowed over his shoulder, and a few minutes later the girl came running into the room.

"Yes Daddy?"

"Give us a name. Any name."

Alessandra tapped her chin. "I've always liked Harlan."

Vincent repeated the name silently to himself. Finally he shrugged. "One must not be too picky with names. And a last name?"

"Di Firenze," Alessandra replied immediately.

"Thank you, sweetheart."

"You're welcome Daddy."

Alessandra must have known that her services were no longer needed, because she left without further ado. Vincent turned to the green-eyed man and smiled. "Welcome to the Mafia, Harlan Di Firenze."

"Mafia?" the man, now known as Harlan, repeated. "I'm not certain I know what that is."

Vincent's smile widened. "It's your new family."

_Family. It seems as if that word holds some special meaning for me. I suppose it wouldn't hurt to be a part of _this _family. _

* * *

"Where is he, Gatekeeper?"

The Gatekeeper, otherwise known as Heimdall, turned to the owner of the voice.

Thor, God of Thunder, walked up behind him. He had just come from a party celebrating his return to Asgard, realm of the Norse gods. Unfortunately, Thor was in no mood to celebrating, owing to the fact that his younger (adopted) brother, Loki, had just fallen off the Bifrost and was in some unknown corner of the universe, and that the bridge connecting him to Midgard – and the woman he loved, Jane Foster – was destroyed.

In essence, he was trapped, neither able to search for his brother or to reassure Jane that he was alright.

Heimdall took a deep breath. He was known for his all-seeing eye, which allowed him to see into the nine realms and sense the thoughts of others. These powers were ineffective against Loki, who had managed to sneak in Frost Giants during Thor's ceremony and hide his true intentions from the gatekeeper.

Now Heimdall was using the same power to locate the fallen prince of Asgard.

And he had found Loki.

"He's on Midgard," Heimdall answered, his fingers wrapping around the hilt of his sword. "But he has lost his memories."

"Is that possible?" Thor asked with a frown.

Heimdall nodded. "There is a reason why we use the Bifrost to travel between realms. It prevents us from losing our memories completely."

"And is there no other way to reach him without suffering the same fate?" Now that Thor knew where his brother was, he was determined to rescue him and bring him back to Asgard.

Heimdall hesitated, remembering what Odin had told him about Loki needing to learn his lesson. If Thor brought Loki back now, then the God of Mischief wouldn't have learned anything. And so Heimdall said the only thing he could.

"No."

* * *

**Author's Note: For those who are curious to the OCs face claims, I've listed them below.**

**Vincent Cagliari - Gary Oldman**

**Salvatore Cagliari - Joel Kinnaman**

**Francesco Cagliari - Max Irons**

**Alessandra Cagliari - Georgie Henley**


	2. Chapter 2

**Two weeks later**

The sky was gray, threatening to spill fat raindrops on the city. Despite that, Harlan wound his way quickly past the New York crowd, his light gray trenchcoat pulled tight over his thin frame, the collar raised.

Beside him Alessandra managed to keep up with his quick pace, but then again, she had been doing this most of her life.

Five years, to be exact.

"So, do you know what to do?" Alessandra whispered as she allowed an elderly couple go ahead of her. Harlan looked at her as if he was surprised she would doubt his abilities. "Fine. Forget I asked."

Harlan turned from her and continued walking, stopping only when they reached an appliance shop run by Muhammad Goethe, who owed Vincent a lot of money.

Earlier that morning Vincent had asked Alessandra to show Harlan Muhammad's shop and make sure that he got home without any trouble. It seemed to be a rather big responsibility for a fifteen year old, but Alessandra Cagliari was no mere teenager. She had seen grown men die on her living room carpet, had witnessed her stepmother's death, and had served as a mediator for her father and some of his more respectable clients.

Now she was given the task of helping Harlan ease himself into the role of the Cagliari's newest hired hitman.

At first Vincent wasn't sure that Harlan would be up to the task, considering Harlan seemed rather...weak. But that image changed the first time Harlan was asked to face one of Vincent's top goons, Frankie. Even though Harlan had just recovered from the injuries he had sustained from his fall, he easily bested Frankie after a few minutes.

Whatever Harlan was before he lost his memory, fighting seemed to be involved. Vincent then tested Harlan's knowledge on different kinds of weapons, from guns to knives. While Harlan looked uncomfortable wielding the guns, he was proficient in handing knives and other "medieval" weapons.

Vincent didn't waste any time after that: Harlan went through a quick yet strict training procedure where he was taught all about his new "family" and the areas that Vincent specialized in. Harlan proved to be a quick learner, absorbing every detail and piece of information like a sponge.

His assignment with Goethe was his first, and his orders were simple: get the money and go.

"But of course, if he proves...difficult, there's only one way," Vincent had told his new charge.

"Kill him." Understanding registered on Harlan's face and he looked at Alessandra, who seemed bored by the proceedings.

Vincent raised one finger and tilted his head, while Salvatore tried not to look too surly. "Subtly. And of course, try not to leave any evidence that would link to us."

Harlan nodded once and left, Alessandra on his heels. Now the two were studying the front of Goethe's shop, noting the number of customers that were going in and out at regular intervals.

"So, how are you feeling? First day on the job; that must be nerve wracking," Alessandra commented.

"Not at all," Harlan replied, and it was the truth. He felt surprisingly calm, and the idea of menacing a man whom he never even met didn't bother him the least. Aside from that, he didn't care that he might end up killing Goethe by the end of the day. He had been given an assignment, and that was what he would do.

No mistakes, no deviations, and certainly no distractions.

"Yeah, I guess you're right," Alessandra said, glancing at him every now and then. "You look like you've been doing this for years."

Harlan didn't respond; his eyes were fixed on the storefront a few feet away. Alessandra seemed to understand what he was doing for she fell silent and propped her chin up with her hand. After an hour, Alessandra announced that she was getting something for them to eat, and walked down the sidewalk and into the nearby convenience store.

Harlan's eyes followed her progress, finally snapping back towards Goethe's shop. The number of customers was dwindling, and he suspected that it was because Goethe was about to close shop for the day. Sure enough, Alessandra returned just in time for them to see Goethe usher out the last customer and change the OPEN sign on the front door to CLOSED.

"Great," Alessandra groaned, her shoulders drooping. She was in the process of handing a bottle of Coke and a ham sandwich to Harlan, but she slipped these back inside her sling bag.

Harlan strode across the street without another word, forcing Alessandra to hurry after him. Harlan stepped up to the glass door and knocked.

"We're closed!" Goethe bellowed from the back of the shop. He made an annoyed grunt when Harlan knocked again, while slipping the Walther PPK from the inner folds of his trenchcoat. The movement was so subtle that even Alessandra was unaware that Harlan was already holding the gun – which was fitted with a silencer – when Goethe opened the door.

"I said for the last god damn time, we're closed!" Goethe shouted, his eyes widening as Harlan pressed the nuzzle of the gun against his forehead.

"It's urgent," Harlan said softly, his eyes darkening. Goethe nodded, beads of sweat trickling down the sides of his head. Harlan pushed the store owner further inside, while Alessandra followed them in and shut the door. "You seem to owe a certain someone a certain amount of money."

"I...I told him I'd pay him back!" Goethe exclaimed, holding his hands up in front of him. "I swear to God, I will!"

"You said you'd pay him back in two weeks," Harlan corrected. "And that was two weeks ago."

Goethe swallowed. Harlan watched as the man's Adam's apple throbbed and then set his eyes on his target. Goethe was blubbering about some nonsense about how he swore to have the money in two days, but Harlan was having none of it.

"I just...I just need more time!" Goethe declared, clasping both his hands in front of him. "Please!"

Harlan paused, deciding his options. Finally, he glanced at Alessandra, who was chewing on her own ham sandwich. "Call your father."

Alessandra slipped the sleek black phone Vincent had given her for her birthday and pressed a button. Seconds later she handed the phone to Harlan, who pressed it to the side of his head.

"Well? Is it done?" Vincent asked.

"Mr. Goethe is asking for an extension, Mr. Cagliari," Harlan reported, the gun still fixed at one of Goethe's vital organs. "Your message?"

Vincent sighed. "Apparently the man doesn't know how to count. Teach him how, my dear Harlan."

"Understood." Harlan handed the phone back to Alessandra, who talked to her father for a few moments before terminating the call. Harlan slipped the gun back into his trenchcoat, noting with dark amusement at the way Goethe's expression relaxed slightly.

_Does he honestly think we would let him get off the hook so easily? _

Apparently Goethe did, because when Harlan unsheathed the sharp Bowie knife Salvatore had grudgingly lent him, the man's face paled even more.

"No, God no," Goethe moaned, and even made a futile dash for the back door. Harlan's reflexes were quick; he had Goethe by the neck before the man could even wrap his chubby fingers around the doorknob. "Please! No! Fuck, just give me two days!"

"We will," Harlan hissed in Goethe's ear. "And we'll leave you a little something to remind you of the time frame that you so kindly set. Two fingers...for two days. If you fail to give us the money by then, we take your head."

Goethe moaned in fear and writhed under Harlan's grip, but the hitman was strong. He slammed Goethe's left hand against the white wall, gripped the knife, and swung it with full force against Goethe's hand. Harlan's aim was true: his knife swing effectively cut off Goethe's thumb, pointer finger, and middle finger, which dropped to the floor.

The store owner brayed and screamed as blood gushed from his hand, and Harlan released his grip on him. He sheathed the knife and walked away without a backward glance. Alessandra had finished her sandwich by now and was slurping the last of her orange juice.

"You must have a strong stomach," Harlan commented, to which Alessandra simply shrugged.

"I got used to it," she answered, glancing at Goethe, who was vainly trying to staunch the flow of the blood. "Two fingers for two days. Very creative. Not subtle, but Daddy did say you only needed to be subtle when you kill him."

"Glad you approve," Harlan said sarcastically. To Goethe, he called: "We'll be seeing each other again, Mr. Goethe. Good day to you."

With that, Harlan pushed open the door and, after Alessandra had stepped outside, allowed it to swing shut on silent hinges.

* * *

_I can't believe I'm missing out on an art gallery opening, _Jill Quartermaster thought with a frown. _I just wish Tony would hurry up so that Dad and I can go. _

Jill, the 27-year old daughter of Adrian Quartermaster and Annaliese Quartermaster, was sitting at a table with her father (her mother had died several years ago to cancer) and Anthony Stark, New York's self-proclaimed "Golden Boy."

It was obvious that her father was trying to forge a "gratifying union between Stark Industries and Quartermaster Shipping" by marrying her off to the billionaire-slash-playboy. Unfortunately for him, Tony and Jill felt nothing but genuine friendship, which started when Jill, who was only seven at the time, ended up inside Tony's bedroom during the wake of his parents.

She had found him crying then, despite his earlier claims that he would be strong and continue his father's legacy the best he could. Jill had handed him her handkerchief, which was much too small for a twenty-one year old.

"Don't cry," she had said in a small voice.

"Hey, how'd you get in here, kid?" Tony had asked hoarsely, after thanking her and taking the handkerchief, although he didn't dry his eyes or blow his nose on it.

"I was looking around," Jill had replied, her eyes taking in the rich oak walls and the soft carpets. "My mommy wants to have a bedroom just like this."

Jill had thought she heard Tony chuckle and she had smiled.

"Who's your mom?"

"Ann...Anna...I just call her 'mommy'." Back when she was small, Jill had had a hard time pronouncing her mom's first name. It was this little statement that sent Tony into a short laughing fit, which ended when Jill's father, Adrian, popped his head in and apologized profusely for Jill's presence.

Tony had shrugged it off, saying that it she wasn't bothering anyone. After that short encounter, Tony seemed to be placing himself in the path of the Quartermasters, with Adrian considering Tony as a protégé and a surrogate son. In turn, Tony gave them his utmost loyalty and affection, even going so far as to listening to Jill's advice during his "playboy" years.

But since she was only ten then, most of her advice was how "yucky" it was to see him being with many girls.

Now, at 27, Jill felt very uncomfortable at the thought of Tony becoming any more than her brother and best friend. It was surreal. It was...unnatural.

"So, I heard that you two are going to an art gallery after this," Tony said, sipping his Henri Jayer Richebourg Gran Cru wine.

"Yes we are," Jill piped up before her father could protest.

Tony winked at her and set his glass down. "Very well, then. Adrian, I'd like to talk to you about that new bill you are proposing to Senator Ashton. I'm just glad you didn't turn the tables on me and offer it to Senator Stern."

"Why would I? I know how much you hate the man," Adrian agreed, finishing the last of his steak.

"I think 'loathe' is the word I would use here, Dad," Jill corrected, earning a soft chuckle from Tony.

"So, on to more pleasant activities," Tony continued, dabbing the corners of his mouth with the table napkin. "Would the two of you mind if..."

"If you accompanied me and my dad to the art gallery? No we wouldn't," Jill finished, grinning widely.

Adrian sighed. He was used to the close friendship between his daughter and Tony, but he had hoped that when the two had grown older, that friendship would develop into something more.

It seemed he was wrong.

Tony and Jill were content to be close friends, and Adrian didn't want to push his daughter into a forced marriage. Heavens, he wasn't _that _old-fashioned.

"Excellent. What are we waiting for?" Tony gestured to the waiter and asked for the bill. Tony paid for his and Jill's dinner, while Adrian slipped his gold Visa and paid for his dinner. Once the receipt arrived, the three stood and exited the restaurant, with Tony stopping every now and then to sign proffered notebooks and, in one case, a table napkin.

Tony's bodyguard, Happy Hogan, was waiting for them outside the restaurant. Jill and Tony went in first, followed by Adrian.

The art gallery was run by a local artist who was trying to make a name of himself. Jill and Tony agreed that the artist's technique was too bold, but that he showed promise. Tony ended up buying a rather abstract piece, which served as the signal for some of the richer attendees to buy a painting of their own.

"Funny how you're like the queen bee of New York," Jill teased once they were back in the limousine. "Whatever you have to do, they have to do also."

"Except have their own Iron Man suit," Tony corrected her with a smile.

"Nobody's going to take that suit from you, right, Tony?" Jill crossed her ankles and smiled fondly at her old friend.

"I'll sue them for all that they're worth if they do." Tony leaned back and turned his head as Adrian entered, followed by the painting Tony had just bought. "So, Adrian, I'll see you next week? That bill you plan on having drafted might have some serious ramifications."

"But it would benefit my business and the other small-time shipping businesses in the area," Adrian said, sitting beside his daughter. "So it's all for a worthy cause."

Tony tilted his head slightly. "I sure hope so."

Jill rested her head on her dad's shoulder and smiled at Tony.

"How are things with you and Pepper?" Jill asked. Tony was in the midst of sending a message to Pepper; he quickly hid his phone and shrugged.

"I don't...I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh come on, Tony! I know you like her! I promise I won't tell the press, and neither will my dad. Right dad?" Jill nudged Adrian, who looked startled at the sudden change in subject.

"What? Oh, oh yes, of course," Adrian agreed.

Jill turned her head towards Tony, her eyebrows raised. "Well?"

"Look, we've been together for a long time. I care about her," Tony replied, but it wasn't enough for Jill.

"Care about her? Or 'like like' her?" she pressed.

"Maybe." Tony knew it was a vague answer and Jill crossed her arms.

"At the rate you're going, you're both going to have a very frustrated companionship. If you like her, tell her! She won't be around forever, you know," Jill told him.

"Eh. I'll think about it." Tony grinned as Jill groaned in exasperation. The rest of the ride revolved around Tony and Adrian's plans for a possible merger, but Tony's mind was on another subject.

_Yeah, I'll definitely have to think about it. A merger with Pepper doesn't sound too bad. _

* * *

"What does Dad see in him?" Salvatore asked, as Gina, the woman he had picked up at the bar a few hours ago, slung her leg over his torso. "I've been working for him since I was a kid, and not once did he say that my methods were effective and creative."

"Perhaps you need a little inspiration," Gina crooned, nibbling on his ear.

At any other time that small gesture might have aroused him, but now it only repulsed him. With a grunt, he pushed Gina off the bed. Ignoring her angry and startled cries, he flung a couple of hundred bucks at her.

"I am not a fucking whore," she spat, tossing the bills back at him.

Salvatore shrugged. "Leave the money, then. You're a big girl; I'm sure you can show yourself out."

Gina sputtered and (ironically, Salvatore thought) grabbed the bills, her clothes, and what was left of her dignity before storming out. Gina nearly collided with Alessandra, who was busy tapping away at her phone.

"Oh wow, what did you do to piss her off?" Alessandra asked, leaning against the doorframe. "Seriously, how are you going to get married if you keep throwing out all the girls that you sleep with?"

Salvatore rolled his eyes. "Not another fucking lecture from you, Lessy. I've just had one from Dad, and I certainly don't need it from you. Not you."

"Why? Because I'm your conscience born into someone else's body?" Alessandra smirked. As the only daughter of Vincent Cagliari, Alessandra had been spoiled most of her life. She had a fairly close relationship with Salvatore, but it was with Francesco, the middle child, with whom she had a strong bond with.

"Just close the god damn door." Salvatore rolled onto his side and closed his eyes. He heard Alessandra close the door and the faint sound of her footsteps as she left.

_Ever since that mystery boy arrived, Dad's been paying more attention to him than to me. _I'm _the oldest son, not Harlan! _

Unfortunately for Salvatore, Vincent Cagliari was slowly becoming enamored with their mysterious ward. Harlan's actions with Goethe showed Vincent that he was a force to be reckoned with, and that he had no qualms of doing some pretty bloody and violent things just to get results.

Fuck, Harlan had only been with them for less than two weeks and already he had gained the respect and admiration of most of Vincent's goons. Perhaps it was the dark aura that Harlan exuded everywhere he went, the serpentine smirk that slid across his face, or the way he seemed to know what the person he was talking to was thinking, Salvatore didn't know.

Whatever it was, Harlan was slowly usurping Salvatore's position as Vincent's unsung second-in-command.

And he didn't like it.

He didn't like it at all.

* * *

**Author's Note: Finally, the face claims of Jill Quartermaster and Adrian Quartermaster are Emily Blunt and Sean Connery, respectively. I decided to change the category to "Avengers," considering Tony's in it as well. :) **


	3. Chapter 3

"So you survived your first assignment," Vincent stated. "I must say, you surprised me with the way you dealt with Goethe. Most of my men would simply emphasize the number of days and then leave, but you…you made sure that it was seared into his memory."

Harlan tilted his head slightly, liking the praise he was receiving. It _was _his first assignment, and to receive the kind of praise Vincent was giving him was enough to give his confidence a boost.

_Perhaps I fell into the right family after all, _he thought, his previous misgivings about joining the Cagliaris vanishing that very instant.

"But of course, I assume you took into consideration the fact that he would probably bleed to death?" Vincent lowered his hands and tapped his pointer finger against his mahogany desk. "Cutting off three fingers…I'm sure Goethe would have lost a considerable amount of blood."

"I sent an anonymous phone call requesting for medical assistance before Alessandra and I left," Harlan answered. He had had some difficulty learning how the mobile phone worked, but after a quick tutorial from the fifteen year old, Harlan managed to reach the emergency hotline and send an ambulance to pick Goethe from his store. He had then tossed the phone in a nearby Dumpster before driving off with Alessandra.

Vincent nodded and Harlan could tell the older man was impressed. Vincent sat there for a few moments, just studying Harlan. Finally he stood and gestured to him; Harlan complied, following Vincent outside.

Several scantily clad ladies were giggling and tossing an inflated beach ball in the swimming pool, but there were a few more simply lounging in the pool side seats sipping cocktails and margaritas. One of them, a leggy blonde with wavy hair, stood up straighter when Vincent and Harlan approached.

"What is this?" Harlan asked, turning to Vincent.

"Your prize." Vincent gestured to the ladies, most of whom were now watching the two men with keen interest. "You get to pick any woman you desire. Whoever you want, even as many as you want."

Harlan raised his eyebrows. He wasn't used to being this close to half-naked women – of that he was certain – and there were some things within him that were stirring in ways that made his head spin. Vincent took his silence for gratitude and chuckled, clapping him heartily on the back before leaving.

Once Vincent was gone, the girls all flocked towards him, their arms outstretched and their smiles seductive.

"You're new," a redhead whispered, leaning forward to lick Harlan's ear. "I don't think I've seen _you _around here before."

"Of course he's new, I'd have remembered _him_," another girl said, this time in a black maillot. "Well aren't you handsome."

"What's your name?" a petite blonde asked, her voice soft and breathy. Unbidden, thoughts of her gasping his name as she writhed beneath him rose in his mind.

"Harlan. Harlan Di Firenze. And what's your name?" He smiled knowingly, making his choice at the spur of the moment. He turned his back at the other women and slowly led her away.

"Annabella," the blonde replied, pleased that it was she he chose. The other girls weren't about to give up just yet; Vincent did say that Harlan could have as many women as he desired.

Sure enough, Annabella wasn't the only woman Harlan took to bed with him that night. There were two more blondes and one brunette, all of whom sent Harlan into dizzying heights of pleasure and ecstasy. All of them were pleasantly surprised at the stamina he showed, as he had each of them twice.

By morning Harlan was fully spent, and the four women seemed like a mass of sweaty flesh sprawled around him on his bed.

Harlan was still in bed come noon, and Vincent sent Francesco and Alessandra to fetch him. To their surprise, the four women filed out, with Annabella placing a last-minute kiss on Harlan's lips. The hitman turned towards the two younger Cagliari children, a white towel tied around his waist.

"It's noon, Harlan," Alessandra said, crossing her arms. "How many times did you-"

"What my sister meant is that Dad is asking for you," Francesco interrupted. He glanced at the tangle of sheets that were stained with sweat and other bodily fluids. "I'll have a maid give you fresh sheets."

Alessandra rolled her eyes and tried not to look too surly. Her brother noticed her darkening expression and he offered a swift goodbye before ushering her out of the room. Harlan, who was on his way to the adjoining bathroom, didn't notice a thing.

The water felt good on his skin and he scrubbed himself down, removing the sweat that clung to his body like a glossy sheen. He ran his fingers through his hair, removing the minute grease that had started to accumulate. While inside, Harlan reminisced about the times he spent making love to the women last night.

Most of them were pliant, allowing him to be the more dominant one. He liked that; he loved exerting influence, power, and control over them. He liked hearing their soft pleas to take them harder and faster, which he did only after they started _begging _him.

A smirk played on the corners of his mouth. His previous unease was now gone. He was part of a family where he was certain he truly belonged in and he was quickly finding aspects about himself that he was sure were vital to his existence.

He couldn't ask for anything more.

Once he was dressed, Harlan headed to the dining room. Vincent Cagliari was sitting at the head of the table, with Salvatore on his left and Francesco on his right. Alessandra was sitting beside Salvatore, leaving an empty chair beside Francesco.

"Ah, it looks like someone enjoyed his rewards thoroughly," Vincent called, setting his glass of bourbon down.

"I apologize for the delay, Mr. Cagliari," Harlan said, joining his colleagues who were standing in a line on the left side of the room.

Vincent clicked his tongue loudly. "We all make mistakes. Fortunately for you, that is one error I am willing to overlook."

Harlan bowed his head, silently showing his gratitude. Vincent looked at him for a few more moments before turning back to his food. Harlan and the others waited until the family finished eating. Vincent and Salvatore walked past them, the latter gesturing to two goons and Harlan, who stepped away from the line and followed the father and son into the study. Alessandra made a move to join her father and brother, but was stopped by Francesco, who led her outside.

"Let's go, sis," he urged her softly. "You know dad doesn't let us get involved when he does the round-up."

"But…" Alessandra resisted for a while before allowing her brother to lead her away. Her eyes never left Harlan's back.

Vincent sat behind his desk and clasped his hands in front of him. Salvatore hovered around his father, watching the three hitmen. His eyes narrowed whenever he looked at Harlan, but other than that, Salvatore gave no sign that he felt any hostility towards the newcomer.

"You three are the newest additions to the family," Vincent began, taking a cigarette from a pack of Dunhill that was lying on his desk. Unlike other mobsters, Vincent only smoked cigarettes, not cigars. "Unfortunately, the results of your first assignments have been…daunting."

The two other hitmen began pleading to be given a second chance. Harlan merely raised his head and looked at Vincent.

"Please, Mr. Cagliari! I did do what you asked me to!" the first hitman pleaded. "I did!"

The second hitman said the same message, although his plea was laden with curse words. Vincent silenced the second hitman with a shot to the head.

Now only Harlan and the first hitman remained; the latter trying to cover the shaking that rocked his body.

"Now, the only thing left is to decide who to keep," Vincent continued, as if he hadn't just shot a man a few seconds ago. "Harlan? Or Tim?"

Tim closed his eyes and Harlan could practically hear the man's frenzied thoughts.

_It's like he's not even a hitman, _Harlan thought with distaste.

Vincent turned and pointed the gun towards Harlan. "You."

* * *

"Jillian Quartermaster, heiress to Quartermaster Shipping, has been spotted last night with billionaire Tony Stark," Brenda Gallows, gossip reporter extraordinaire, stated. The background of her signature talk show set flashed behind her, but nothing dimmed the glow of her pearly white teeth as she grinned into the camera. "Is this the beginning of a budding romance? Will we be hearing of a more…intimate merger between Stark Industries and Quartermaster Shipping? Only time will tell. Stay tuned."

Jill moaned and covered her face with the couch pillow. She had crashed at Tony's rooftop suite last night, but now it looked like it was a mistake.

"Morning," Tony said as he walked into the common area. "What gossip rag is flinging dirty dishwater at us today?"

"Gallows," Jill replied, her voice muffled by the pillow. "Seriously, I want to hang myself for ever agreeing to stay over."

Tony snorted and poured a glass of whiskey for himself and a mug of cinnamon tea for Jill. "It's not like you haven't done this before, Jill."

"Yeah, but right now I am _sick _of hearing about news about how we're getting married." Jill removed the pillow from her face and sat up, brushing back her bedhead hair. "Don't they know I'm young enough to be your daughter?"

"Are you saying I'm old?" Tony asked, pretending to be offended. "I'll have you know that I don't look a day over twenty."

"That's _your_ opinion. I think you don't look a day over fifteen." Jill grinned and took the mug from Tony.

"Buttering me up first thing in the morning, huh? What are you after?" Tony studied her over the rim of his glass.

"Nothing! Can't I pay my best friend a compliment when I want to?" Jill sipped her tea and sniffed, rubbing sleep from her eyes.

"Jarvis, change the god damn channel," Tony ordered, glancing at the Gallows woman with distaste.

"At once, Sir," Jarvis replied.

"Morning Jarvis!" Jill greeted, smiling.

"And a very good morning to you, Miss Jill."

Jarvis was Tony's personal computer system, one that handled almost every aspect of Tony's everyday life. Jarvis also helped Tony when he was using his Iron Man suit, from placing urgent calls to providing backup power.

Tony finished his whiskey and set the empty glass on the coffee table. Jill watched the movie that Jarvis had decided was more suitable than the gossip show that was previously playing. Only when did she finish her tea did Jill stand up and take her empty mug – and Tony's empty glass – back to the bar, where she washed these in the sink. After that she headed to Tony's bedroom, where she opened the door to the adjoining bathroom and prepared the shower.

Years of being best friends with Tony Stark told Jill that she needn't ask for his permission to use his bathroom. She even had a small chest of her clothes in the small closet inside the bathroom just in case she decided to stay over, like what happened last night.

Her father had received a sudden call that requested his presence in Washington, and since Jill didn't feel like sleeping alone, Tony had arranged for her to have an impromptu sleepover at his place.

Jill decided to wear Capri pants and Keds, topped off with a white shirt. She didn't spend a lot of time in the shower; she simply wanted to feel fresh when she headed back out. Jill slipped into her clothes and left the bathroom, positioning herself in front of the full length mirror inside Tony's bedroom. Just as she finished brushing her hair, Pepper came in.

"Pepper, hi!" Jill greeted, walking over to the older woman and hugging her. "You just got back?"

"Yeah. Pasadena's no New York," Pepper answered, returning Jill's hug. "Tony told me you were staying over. Why'd your dad go to Washington all of a sudden?"

"Senator Ashton wanted to discuss the bill." Jill sighed and shrugged. "Dad seems so gung-ho on having the bill passed."

"I'm sure he knows what he's doing," Pepper assured her. "He's been in the business for years."

"Yeah. I just…sometimes I think he does things too hastily. There have been rumors that he's received some death threats from the mob, but he thinks he can handle the backlash." Jill bit her lip and stared at a spot behind Pepper's shoulder. "Sometimes I think he's just doing things to prove to himself that he's invincible. I don't know…we haven't really been the same since Mom died."

Pepper nodded, understanding Jill's sentiments. Tony and Pepper were the only people in the world who knew what really went on behind closed doors in the Quartermaster mansion. Since Annaliese died, Adrian spent more and more time at the office, practically neglecting his only daughter, who was in her freshman year in college at the time. Most would have thought that Jill wouldn't have minded to get some of her father's attention away from her, but Adrian wasn't the kind of father who doted on his daughter.

Oh he loved her very much, but he didn't think it was necessary to pay a lot of attention to her. Annaliese helped ease some of Adrian's shortcomings, but when she died, Jill felt the brunt of her father's absence and seeming lack of attention towards her.

As a result, Jill had rebelled, all for the sake of getting her father's attention. She drank almost every night, did drugs, and cut herself. It was during one cutting session that things almost went awry: Jill had nearly severed a major artery and would have bled to death, if it weren't for Tony showing up with the intention of staging a major intervention.

The scar of that fateful night was still on Jill's wrist, which served as a reminder of what might have happened. Jill stared at the scar now, her fingers tracing the line of healed skin.

Once Jill had recovered, Adrian spent more time with his daughter, but Jill admitted that her father, despite being loving, understanding, and caring, just wasn't "there." It was as if he existed for the company and, at times, his daughter.

His current project seemed to be getting his daughter and Tony to walk down the aisle, which the two made perfectly clear that that wasn't going to happen.

"He'll come around, Jill. Your dad just wants to get this over with," Pepper said, and the two walked back out. Tony was still sitting on the couch, but this time he was talking to a buff blonde in tan slacks and a starched white shirt.

"Who's_ he_?" Jill whispered, leaning close to Pepper. "Another of Tony's clients?"

"No, that's Steve Rogers."

Jill frowned. "Wait, that's the name of the supersoldier Dad liked when he was younger. How…why…"

Pepper laughed softly. "Things are about to get _very _interesting around here."

"I'll say," Jill agreed, a little too loudly. At the sound of her voice, both Tony and Steve turned their heads in her direction. Jill felt her cheeks flush and knew she was blushing.

"Jill. So nice of you to stop by before leaving," Tony said, standing up and walking over to her. "Now I don't want you to do anything reckless while you're alone, okay?"

"Wait…what…Tony, you know I don't do that stuff anymore," Jill said, craning her head to get a better look at Steve. "What's he doing…Tony, would you stop pushing me, please?"

Tony hesitated and then continued pushing her towards the elevator, keen on getting her away from Steve. "No. You'll miss your flight, remember?"

"Flight? What flight? Tony!" Jill managed to wrench her arm away from Tony and step away from him. Before he could do anything else, Jill hurried towards Steve, who had been watching them with a bemused expression on his face. Pepper was hiding a smile from behind her hand and she stepped to the side as Tony passed, looking rather agitated.

"Hi, I'm…uh, Jill," Jill began, holding her hand out to Steve.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Miss Jill." Steve smiled warmly at her and shook her hand. "I'm Steve Rogers."

_Whoa, strong grip, _Jill noted. _And such blue eyes. _

"I'm sorry if I sound too forward, but are you…?"

Steve opened his mouth to reply, but Tony cleared his throat loudly. Steve glanced at Tony and sighed.

"No ma'am, just Steve Rogers. I blame my parents for naming me after him," Steve replied.

Jill nodded slowly. "Okay. Right. Well, they certainly know how to name their kid, because you look a _lot _like him. Captain America. My dad has a collection of trading cards, lunchboxes…you name it, he's got it."

"Jill, stop harassing the poor guy," Tony called from behind her. "He's just here for a vacation."

"And since when did you become the welcome wagon?" Jill teased, deciding to let the matter slide – for now. "Okay, I'm coming. It was nice meeting you, Steve. I hope you enjoy your stay here in New York."

"I'm sure I will." Steve smiled and Jill turned away from him, joining Tony and Pepper who were standing near the elevator.

"Thanks for letting me stay," Jill said as she hugged Tony and then Pepper.

"Anytime, kiddo," Tony answered with a rakish wink. Jill shook her head and waved at Steve before entering the elevator. "Say hi to your dad for me."

"Will do." Jill checked her pockets for her mobile phone and keys as the elevator doors closed. The ride down was smooth and fast; before long, she was walking across the lobby of Stark Towers where she met the influx of the early morning employees.

Most of them weren't surprised to see her there, while there were a few who stared at her as she passed by. Jill saw that Happy was waiting for her outside, and she smiled as he opened the car door for her.

The two of them had barely pulled away from the main entrance of Stark Towers when Jill heard the first strains of Fur Elise, the ringtone she had assigned for her father. She slid her mobile phone out of her pocket and pressed a button. "Dad?"

"Hello sweetie, how was your sleepover?" Adrian sounded tired and Jill could faintly hear the dull hum of jet engines in the background. He was most likely on his way back to New York.

"Same. Hey Dad, what was the name of that guy you liked when you were younger? You know, the solider with superpowers?"

"Captain America? Steve Rogers," Adrian answered, confusion creeping into his tone. "What's this about, Jillian?"

Jill winced at her dad's use of her real name. "I just met this guy named Steve Rogers in Tony's suite."

"Jillian, you know there are many boys who could have the name Steve Rogers," Adrian said patiently. "Now, did Tony mention about rescheduling the meeting?"

_Back to the subject of business, as always, _Jill thought bitterly.

"No, he didn't. He did say 'hi'." Jill leaned back against the seat and watched the people walking on the sidewalk a few feet from the car.

Adrian remained silent for a while and Jill wondered if he had fallen asleep. Finally she heard him breathing and she realized he was calming himself down.

"Look, Dad, I can…I can talk to him if you want," she offered, hating him and the way he could seem to subtly manipulate her like this.

"That would be great, Jillian," Adrian said, and Jill could imagine his satisfied grin.

He'd gotten what he wanted, as always.

_And I always help him get it. No matter how much I hate doing it. _


End file.
